Monday Morning
by Rhine
Summary: Monday Morning at Shermer High
1. Chapter 1

Shermer High, or what Brian Johnson swore to be one of the nine concentric circles of Hell, stood amongst its usual gloomy haze, the dull, gray building matching the overhanging clouds. Wouldn't his mother be proud? He smirked. Those Sunday School classes hadn't been a waste after all. He grimaced at the thought of St. Charles Cathedral looming before him, and the waste of the previous Sunday he'd spent there.  
  
"I certainly can't do anything more to save you, Brian," his mother had said, her nagging voice filling the small car as she'd pulled up in front of the church,"So scoot." He'd spent the rest of yesterday scrubbing the church floors and playing altar boy. He'd seen Claire once, briefly, following silently behind her father with an all too familiar look of "I'd rather be anywhere else." He'd waved and she'd given him a sympathetic smile before settling back into her gloom in the pews. At five o'clock, convinced that her son's soul had been saved enough for one day, Mrs. Johnson had come to retrieve him. And that left him here, standing hesitantly at the front doors of Sherman High, not willing to simply shatter the spell the Breakfast Club had put over the place. This place, that Saturday afternoon, had become his haven, but to charge back in to a world where Jocks and Princesses reigned, it would once again become his Hell. Larry Lerner hobbled up the steps next to him, limping in obvious pain and humiliation. Brian held the door open for him and followed inside - Hey, he mused, things could be worse.  
  
Claire brooded silently on the school bus, holed up in the back seat, wallowing in the humiliation of having to ride the "yellow wagon of shame," back to Shermer High. Her father had been less than pleased with the "hoodlum" she'd been kissing on the front of his car, and even less pleased with her missing earring. Diamonds, he'd felt the need to remind her, don't grow on trees. And if she thought she was going to go around with that piece of trailer trash, then she could have him pick her up in his pick-up truck. Too proud to call anyone for a ride, she'd stalked down to the bus stop this morning at 7 AM and nearly gave the other riders a heart-attack as Prom Queen Claire sat amongst the "little people." Cat-calls rose up throughout the bus, including shouts of "What's da mattah Claire? Did Daddy's porsche break down?" or "If ain't da' poor little rich girl..." The bus pulled into the schoolyard, and she was the last one off, slinking down the steps.  
  
"Hope the ride was comfortable enough for ya', Miss Beverly Hills," cracked the bus driver, tipping his hat and smirking a toothless grin. Giving him a cold glare, she searched around the front steps for a familiar face, but didn't know who she was looking for. Would the familiar face belong to the Breakfast Club? Or be another princess?  
  
Allison, slumped in the passenger seat, scowled at the passing scenery. Somehow, without the dark circles around her eyes, it didn't bring about the same effect. Pulling her arms deeper into Andy's blue sweatshirt, she sunk lower in her seat. Would people notice the change? she wondered, did she want them to? Her parents hadn't given her more than a second glance this morning, but had she expected them to? Her younger siblings darting around her, on and under the table, certainly hadn't noticed. The only thing they noticed was whether or not there were enough marshmallows in the cereal. She didn't particularly care though, there was only one person's reaction she was really worried about. The color drained from her face as she thought of the different scenarios. Number one, and most prefered, he would notice, take her into his arms and...well, that's why it was most prefered. Number two, he wouldn't notice, wouldn't even give her a second glance, and he'd just be one more person to ignore her. She let out a desperate squeak as the car pulled up in front of the school, her father, with a grunt, letting her know that it was time to get out. The door barely had a chance to close when the car sped off again, leaving her standing akwardly in the parking lot, without the dark circles or unruly bangs to hide behind.  
  
"Go get 'em, Champ," his father had urged, pushing Andy out of the car,"It's the Clark's time to shine!" The meet Sunday had gone as his father expected, Andy coming out on top, as always, the other guy wallowing in his defeat amongst his bruises. But the rage he channeled into his wrestling had a new source. With every punch, hold, and slam he unleashed, it was his father underneath him. He'd spent hours at the gym that Sunday, giving the punching bag Hell, releasing his rage at the top of his lungs, until his arms and legs refused to take the pain any longer. He collapsed in his bed that night, too tired and sore to think, yet one constant image racing through his mind. The approaching day was Monday, and Monday meant Allison. Yet with Allison came a wealth of other problems and complications - things he was too tired to address. Morning came abruptly, bringing with it a "complete breakfast," spanning the entire table. Stuffed to his father's satisfaction, he'd climbed into the truck and allowed himself to be driven towards indecision. Would he be reigning jock once he reached those front steps? Or a desperate fool in love? Slamming the truck door behind him, he wanted to beat the shit out of whoever said he couldn't be both.  
  
The football field was a longer distance than Bender had remembered, crossing it in the cool morning, his long ragged coat blowing out behind him in the wind. The cool breeze stung as it whipped around his newest battle scar - a fresh black eye, courtesy of John Bender Sr. He pondered the latest story he'd have to come up with for this one, for his adoring fans. Let's see, he mused, the angry bikers beat me up last week after I stole their ride. Before that there was the enraged policeman who's police cruiser I "borrowed." And the week before that...Hell, I might as well tell them the frickin' President beat the crap out of me, they're too doped up to notice. He froze as the thought hit him - his friends may not notice, but the whole god damn Breakfast Club would. He'd put on that lovely reinactment of his family home life for them, and now they'd notice. He should've known it was a bad idea to get those people involved in his life. He didn't want their pity, so they'd better watch out if they tried to feel sorry for him... 


	2. Chapter 2

The halls of Shermer High felt unusually crowded that Monday Morning, Brian thought, as if the walls were slowly sinking in upon him. 1st Period - Shop Class. Shop class meant twenty-three elephants staring him down with their painted eyes and looming lights while he sat at his desk - void of any such tacky creature. But Shop Class also meant Bender. Before Saturday, Brian would have dreaded coming face to face with "the criminal," after all, one of Bender's goons was been the reason his elephant lamp had been lacking a trunk. Not that it mattered now, the elephant was just a scorched memory of the hideous trinket it had been, and Bender wasn't so scary anymore. Atleast, not if he thought of him as John, because no one can be that intimidating with a name like John. John, John, Johnny, Brian thought to himself and snickered, good ole Johnny - oh he'd get his ass kicked for that, but boy would it be worth it.  
  
Settling into his vacant seat under the uncomfortable stares of his classmates, Brian cringed as it became extremely obvious word of the flare gun incident had gotten around. "How to Use A Gun," had been written across the chalk board, with the directions, "1. Point 2. Shoot," underneath. It was apparently, to the jocks, quite amusing as they started to make shooting motions and gunshot noises. God Bless the easily amused, Brian thought cynically and sunk lower into his seat. One particular jock in the class, a leader amongst idiots, stood behind him with a bucket of red paint and poured... Welcome back to Hell, ladies and gentleman, Brian thought, feeling the paint drip down him, Hope you enjoy the stay.  
  
Salvation arrived as Bender made his entrance to the classroom - unique and exciting as usual. Surrounded by his usual cloud of smoke, he kicked open the shop door and rolled in on the principal's office chair. Heeeeere's Johnny, Brian snickered to himself, bent over the sink attempting to wash off.  
  
"Hey Bri, I like the dye job," Bender called casually. Face recognition, remembers my name, even added a compliment, this is good, Brian assessed. Looking the jock up and down, still holding the paint can, Bender rolled across the classroom in his chair, sliding until he was right in front of him. "Aww, look at that, caught red-handed!" Bender announced sarcastically,"Get it? Red paint? Red handed?" With that, Bender punched him full on in face, knocking him to the ground, red paint cascading down ontop of him. "Nahh...," Bender said, looking down at the pitiful mess,"Didn't think you would." Turning, Bender walked casually out of the classroom, passing the teacher in the doorway.  
  
"Bender, class is starting now," the teacher reminded him.  
  
"I've done enough damage for the day," Bender flashed a grin and continued down the hall.  
  
Claire and Andy had first period English together, a class hard enough to pay attention to without distractions, but this Monday it became particularly difficult. It was when Mrs. Colville was droning on about "to be" verbs, in a voice that could conteract eight cups of coffee, that they first saw him. The small window in the door didn't give much a view, but they both clearly saw it - John Bender's head rolling by, his hair blowing backwards as the office chair picked up speed. While an unusual, amusing sight, the two managed to put it out of their heads with little more than a soft snicker and tried to pay attention to the monotone lecture. But the second time he rolled by, standing on the chair and attempting to surf, they had to bury their faces in their jackets to contain themselves. And the third time, and the fourth...John Bender kept racing by on that office chair until Claire finally raised her hand and interrupted. "Excuse me, Mrs. Colville, may I please go to the bathroom?" she asked sweetly.  
  
"Oh, oh, of course," she dismissed her and returned to the lecture.  
  
"Tell him to knock it off," Andy whispered as she left the room.  
  
"Bender!" Claire called in the hall,"What do you think you're doing?!"  
  
"Making good use of public funding," Bender replied, patting the rolling office chair.  
  
"You're going to get caught," Claire warned, calling down the hall at him.  
  
"Like one more detention makes a matter to me," he yelled back.  
  
"Why did you choose my classroom to roll by, Bender, if you're just 'making good use of public funding,'" she asked.  
  
"Don't flatter yourself Princess, it had nothing to do with you or your classroom, it happens to be that Carl just waxed this hall, and its perfect...." he rolled by her,"...to slide down." He gave her a wicked grin, and she was about to cross her arms and storm off when she caught sight of his eye.  
  
"Oh my god!" she cried, stepping closer,"What happened to you?!" Angrily he pushed farther away.  
  
"Don't," he growled through his teeth. Ignoring it, she continued to walk towards him, her arm outstretched to push back his hair and get a better look. "I said don't!" he yelled, standing abruptly,"Don't pity me! Don't you feel sorry for me! Don't try and play saving grace to me! I don't need you!" He sent the chair slamming into the lockers and stalked off down the hall, leaving Claire alone and crying.  
  
Wiping her eyes and re-entering the classroom, Mrs. Colville looked up at her. "Oh dear," she exclaimed,"Was there something terribly traumatic in the bathroom?" Claire merely sunk into her seat without a word, as Andy looked at her questioningly.  
  
It had been an unusually long time 'til lunch, Allison thought as she squirmed restlessly in her seat. Her fingers drummed on the table top and her feet tapped on the floor. She'd had to sit through the whole four classes today, because no one sent pretty looking girls like her to the counselor's office. Before, glaring out from behind her unruly bangs and dark circles, teachers had been more than willing to send her off where she was content to look at ink-blots until 12:15 arrived. But now looking normal definetely had its disadvantages, she deduced, as she continued to squirm in her seat. At last the bell signaled freedom, for however brief a period, and she jumped from her seat with a slight squeak, 'cause hey, old habits die hard, and quickly darted to the cafeteria, eager to claim her prime spot in the far back corner. Entering the swarm of students hungry for lunch, she was pulled to the side, out of the mainstream rush. "Hey," Andy said quietly into her ear, as he pulled her against the wall,"Blue looks good on you," he laughed as he tugged at his sweatshirt she was wearing. A smile broke out across her face - He'd noticed, she thought happily, prefered scenario in effect. Gently he kissed her, as they leaned back against the wall. Yup, Allison thought as she returned the kiss, definetely the prefered scenario.  
  
AN: Thank you to all the reviewers! You guys are great! More to come! 


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: I realize it has been three years since I updated this. Can you really apologize for that degree of story-abandonment? We will see. But here's an update. Enjoy.

"Hey Andy," a voice called out through the bustle of the hallway. "Andy-man! The Champ!" The cry was taken up by several others in the rush, and Andy groaned as the ringleader drew closer. He broke away from Allison as Chet pounded him hard on the back. "Hey man, how's it feel?" Andy grabbed for Allison's hand as he turned to face him.

"Good, great," he said, slipping quickly back into his jock-persona,"It feels uh, …" Blank faces surrounded him, the nearby student body enthralled with Andy's latest tale of victory. They stared, waiting for him to finish. "It feels uh," lowering his voice an octave, he continued,"It feels like I pounded him into the pavement! Yeah!"

"Yeah!" Chet called after him,"That's my man!" Grabbing Andy's arm, he thrust it up in the air, holding it above their heads as if Andy had just been declared Heavyweight Champion of the World. "That's my man!" Approving shouts of appreciation went up through the hallway, and Allison, still backed against the wall, watched it all with wide eyes. The victory cries were cascading up and down the hallway, and a giant crowd had gathered. And there she was, right in the middle of everything. Right in the middle of the noise, right in the middle of the fawning throng. Things continued to grow louder as she closed her eyes, and stepped backward, only to find her back flat against the hallway wall. Her pulse started to race as if she could feel set after set of eyes on her. With Andy's back to her, she escaped through the small opening between Chet and the wall, disappearing back into the nameless faces of high school. Andy turned as he felt Allison's hand slip from his, but Chet had already begun to pull him down the hallway, and there was an unstoppable momentum pushing him toward popularity.

"…so I'm not even kidding you, his real name's John!" Brian declared, half in and half out of his seat with excitement.

"John?" the lunch table repeated in unison.

"Ah! Jees! Shut up!" Brian panicked, snapping down to slump in his seat. "You guys want him to come over here or something?" He craned his neck, checking out the cafeteria. His classmates, it seemed, hadn't noticed the corner table's minor outburst, they instead continued on with their everyday lives, continuing the long-held standard of dismissing the nerds and ignoring their every move. Thank god for that, Brian sighed in relief.

"I thought he was your friend, Brian," croaked Larry Lerner over his chocolate milk carton,"Or at least you said he was." Larry Lerner? Brian thought. Larry Lerner, challenging me? He could see the rest of the table turning to him with questions, doubting everything he'd told them.

"You know what Larry, he is my friend," Brian finally answered. "And so is Andy." With that, Larry choked on his chocolate milk and Brian's credibility was restored. The nerds resumed their lunch in peace.

Allison, weaving through the cafeteria, still couldn't escape the feeling of people's eyes on her. She made a note never to wear blue again, much too noticeable. Nobody watched a girl in black negotiate the social carnage of the lunchroom. Never, never again, she shook her head. Slipping past table after table, she made her way over to a vacant chair and fell into it with an ungraceful "hmph."

Brian jumped a few inches out of his chair as she sat next to him. "Jesus," he cried,"Give me a heart attack or something. I thought you were Bender." He quickly stumbled into his next statement,"Uh, my good friend Bender, who I definitely am not afraid of." Brian glanced quickly around the lunch table, making sure his friends had bought it, but he found them starring, mouths open, at Allison.

Confused, Brian turned to look at her more closely, and a smile broke out across his face as he realized his good luck. Allison looked nothing like Allison. Claire's finishing touches had turned Allison into someone worthy of the school's reigning Jock. And she had just sat down willingly next to one Brian Johnson. He seized the opportunity.

"Oh yeah, guys," he sputtered,"Let me uh, let me introduce you to my girlfr-." But as soon as he started, she let out a frustrated squeak and scratched furiously at her well-styled locks, restoring her unruly brunette mop. The transformation was instantaneous, and the nerds of the corner table covered their eyes and held each other for comfort.

"Freak girl!" one cried

"Psycho!" another screamed.

"She bit me!"

"Kicked me!"

"I saw her eat a bug!"

"Hi Brian," she mumbled, her head hanging, a mild smile cracking at her restored reputation.

"Hi Allison," he sighed, taking a disappointed swig of his apple juice. It had almost worked. He had almost been cool.

Meanwhile, Claire was nearly choking on cool, and on her tuna sandwich.

"What's the matter, Claire?" Tiffany asked, as Claire began to cough. The table stopped their chatter to watch as Claire's eyes began to tear.

"Oh my god!" Stephanie cried, and Claire turned to her, still trying to breathe. Thank you, she thought, someone knows what's going on. "Her maid totally put celery in her tuna again!" The table erupted in an indignant and horrified chorus of "Oh my god's!" and "How could she's!" Frantic, Claire shook her head, motioning to her throat as the sandwich remained lodged.

"I will totally go find you a new sandwich!" Becky raced off from the table, while the rest recounted their own horror stories about mis-made lunches. Claire grabbed for Tiffany's arms and held tight.

"Claire," she turned,"If I get bruises and can't wear my new tank top, I am going to-" Claire's frantic motions however, finally seemed to break the barrier of ten pounds of hair spray. "Wait, girls, I think, I think she's chokin-"

Before she could utter the rest, Claire had been hoisted from her seat, seized from behind, and the offending tuna morsel had launched itself from her esophagus and halfway across the cafeteria. She was then dropped, unceremoniously back into her seat, where she collapsed in an exhausted heap, gasping for air, as John Bender stalked away without a word. The table sat in stunned silence as Claire heaved.

"Oh my god," Stephanie finally spoke,"I can't believe he just touched you."


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: So here we are, less than three years later! And more story. Maybe this will become a habit. Anyway. Just a note, the last chapter was a little out of character for Brian...mainly because I was channeling Anthony Michael Hall from "Sixteen Candles" rather than Anthony Michael Hall from "The Breakfast Club." Hopefully this problem has been fixed. Also, Bender is a tricky one. Hopefully he's in character for this round too. Reviews are always lovely.

The bell ending lunch had rung three minutes before--a lifetime ago in high school terms. Most were already settling into the grafittied desks of their next class, leaving the cafeteria a veritable wasteland of brown paper sacks and banana peels. Claire remained in the midst of the mess, not having moved from where John Bender had dropped her. She sat, catching her breath and collecting her thoughts.

"You almost died," Allison said, slinking into a seat at the empty table. "I saw a lady at the mall do that once."

"Choke?" Claire asked, looking up.

"No," she shook her head. "Die. She bit into a pretzel and the next second her eyes are all bugging out, her skins turnin' purple, and she's just scratching at her neck, but no one notices, she just keeps scratching and making this noise, this wheezing noise, right before she just keels over and-"

"Thanks," Claire cut her off,"That's really comforting Allison." Allison just shrugged in return and the two sat in silence, interrupted only by the sound of the final bell peeling through the hallways.

"Shit!" Claire gathered up her books frantically before reaching for her bag, scattering papers in her haste. "Shit, shit, shit!" Stuffing them into her bag, she hurried toward the door. Allison's voice caught her before she made it.

"Bender's under the bleachers." Claire stopped but didn't turn. "Sixth block," Allison went on, rising from her chair,"He hates P.E." She crossed the cafeteria to where Claire had her hand on the door.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked.

"Thought you might want to thank him," Allison smirked, pushing open the double door and sauntering out. Claire tossed her red curls and started down the opposite hallway in a huff. Allison listened the click of Claire's boots across the tile and smiled to herself as they came to a sudden stop.

"Hey Allison?"

"North bleachers," Allison called back, laughing at the chorus of newly scurrying heel-clicks. Whistling a little tune to herself, Allison continued down the hallway, catching site of her reflection in a trophy case. The heavy, dark bangs were back and she wiggled her fingers at the glass in a 'nice to see you again' wave before taking a left into the school shrink's office.

-----------

"Brian," Andy's voice hissed from the seat behind him. "Bri-" Brian waved him off and turned back to the vocabulary test in front of him. The words kept dancing around on the page and Brian was trying to make them sit still. The paper wads hitting him the back of the head weren't helping.

"Brian," Andy continued,"Where's Allison?" He waved at the empty seat in the back corner but Brian didn't turn.

_Oligarchy, Brian thought, oligarchy, it means…_

"Hey geek," Adam Sherwin, the varsity football captain seated to Brian's left, turned and grunted,"Somebody's talkin' to you, why don't you play nice and turn around."

_Ah yes, Brian thought, how could I forget, oligarchy--rule by a few, by the elite and powerful…high school. Reluctantly he turned, only to get Andy's latest paper-wad product straight in the face._

"What do you want?" he said, keeping his voice low.

"Allison--where is she?" Andy asked again.

"How should I know--I didn't see her after lunch, ok?" With that, he turned back to his work. _Importunate, importunate--_ Another paper-wad lodged itself in his hair.

"You saw her at lunch?"

"Yes," Brian muttered, staring at the test. _Importunate…_

"Did she say anything about… Did she talk about me to you? What she'd say?"

Rolling his eyes, Brian swiveled in his chair. "Nothing, alright? I don't really talk about that stuff much--I mean, I'm not a girl, ok?" As soon as he said it, he regretted it, hearing Adam Sherwin snickering off to the side.

Beaten, Brian turned back to the test. _Importunate_, he thought, scribbling as another paper-wad hit him, -- _demanding, unrelenting, persistent_.

"Hey Brian," Andy called again.

"What do you want now Andy?" he hissed under his breath.

"What's the answer to number four?"

-----------

This was a stupid idea and Claire knew it. She knew it, she knew it, she knew it! And she could feel it too, in the uneasy sway of her boots on the broken, old bleachers. Wobbling she tried to stay steady as she climbed, all the time staring down through the cracks for any sign of life below. She knew Allison had said _under_ the bleachers, but she much preferred to stay up here. When she spotted him, _if _she spotted him, she might then consider going underneath but certainly not before then would she wander blindly beneath the hulking metal contraption amongst rats and old gum and god knows what else. No way.

She kept her eyes down, staring through each successive break between rows, climbing higher and higher and becoming more frustrated with herself by the second. "Boo," came a voice suddenly, from right beside her. As she looked up, several realizations came slamming together. One, she had just reached the top of the rickety contraption, much higher than she'd ever been before. Two, John Bender was standing right next to her, very, very close… And three, she'd just managed to catch her heel on the metal edge of the top step. That, coupled with the natural dizziness which struck her in Bender's presence, had upset her delicate balance and she could feel gravity begin to tug her backward. Before she could manage a scream, Bender had grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to him. Very, very close to him.

"Twice in one day, princess," he murmured, his warm breath mingling with her panicked gasps. She looked up at him but his face, as usual, was unreadable. Frustrated, she turned away.

"Well if you hadn't scared me to begin with--"

"And the tuna?"

"Well," she said, pulling her arm back from him and collapsing into a seat.

"That's once. And just once."

"Once is usually all it takes," Bender said, smoothing back his hair and sitting next to her.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're a freaking pain-in-the-ass princess if you're gonna make the god damn prince save you from _two _dragons."

"I'm not a pain-in-the-ass," Claire shot back, indignantly,"I came up here to thank you--and well, you, you John Bender, are the crappiest prince on the face of the planet!" She stood, stomping her feet and turned back toward the stairs, intending to make an exit. Instead, she gulped at the long stairway down. The long, long, stairway down.

"Now will you help me get off this stupid thing?" she threw one hand toward him but kept the other hiked on her hip. Slowly, he stood, and taking her hand in his, started down the steps, one at a time.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Hmmm...this chapter feels peculiar to me. Thoughts are appreciated.

Allison's hand rested on the doorknob, the feel of the metal familiar to her fingers. Another turn, a quarter of an inch to the right and she'd be back inside. Back inside her little haven of a cramped office where paint-by-numbers hung on the walls and the psychiatrist had taken to spilling coffee on printer paper for new designs since he ran out of new ink-blot cards three months ago.

She wasn't quite sure why she hadn't already flung the door wide open and flopped into her chair. It was, after all, very much her chair. Other than the occasional sniveling, just-dumped cheerleaders who sat there and used up all the tissues, Allison and the chair's relationship was pretty monogamous.

A smirk spread across her face and her hand gripped the knob tighter at the thought. _That's exactly what I should do_, she mused. Burst into the office and throw herself on the floor, gather the chair's legs in her arms and apologize fervently to them. Apologize to the chair for her treacherous behavior, cheating on her beloved chair with the brainless jock. What could she have been thinking? Would the chair ever forgive her? The smirk spread into a genuine, twisted smile. That's exactly what she should do. Oh the look on the shrink's face when she pulled this one…

She started to turn the doorknob once more, an eighth of an inch to the right. And stopped. She was still wearing "the brainless jock"'s sweater. Couldn't go in there like that. The psychiatrist might catch a whiff of normality.

Releasing the knob she backed away from the door and from the thought, turning back down the hallway. _Lucky sweater, my ass._

--------------------

"Step."

_Click._

"Step."

_Click._

"Step."

_Click._

"Ste-"

"You don't have to announce every single one, _thank you very much_. I can _see_ them, you know," Claire snapped, her heels clicking as she and Bender made their way down the bleachers.

"Whatever you say, princess."

_Click._

_Click._

_Click._

_Clic-clickkckc. Claire stumbled slightly on a particularly oddly angled step, but steadied herself, clinging to Bender's hand. Slowly, the two began again._

"Step."

_Click._

"Step."

--------------------

Brian continued to sit. And sit. Staring at his answers. He'd been the first to finish, but was as usual, the last to turn it in as he pored over each answer. Should he have elaborated on number six? What about number seven? Should he have written more? And then there was number twelve. The answer continued to allude him as the minutes ticked by on the obnoxiously loud clock hanging above the door. He looked up only as it swung open and Allison came sashaying into the class room, flashing her unsettling grin.

_Concentrate, he told himself, concentrate. Number twelve…aberrant…aberrant… As Allison passed, she went cross-eyed and stuck her tongue out at him. Aberrant! Brian's pencil scurried across the page with new found energy. Aberrant -- abnormal, unusual, atypical…_

As Brian scrawled out his answer, Adam Sherwin watched as Andy followed Allison's every mood intently with his eyes, swiveling in his chair to watch her path and continuing to stare even when she'd taken a seat.

For the first time in their lives, and very likely, for the only time in their lives, the exact same thought streamed across both Brian and Adam's mind at the same time, Brian's as he finished his test and Adam's as he watched Andy…

…_weird._

--------------------

The bell finally rang, ending sixth block, and the usual hustle of high school started up once more, people filing in and out of the hallway, from classroom to classroom. As the rest hurried out, Brian, Andy and Allison lingered behind. Brian because his mother had just bought him a brand new pen set and it required careful disassembling and packing away before he could transport it to his next class; Andy because he was waiting to talk to Allison and Allison because she had become recently engrossed in the new elaborate doodle she was carving into her back corner desk.

She looked up as Andy made his way over.

"Don't ask me what I did to my hair," she said before he could start.

"I wasn't going to," Andy said, taken back. "I…I think it looks nice."

Brian snickered in the background, but one death-glare from Allison and glower from Andy had him packing before he could finish snapping his pen set securely closed.

"I was going to ask where you went at lunch."

"I guess I got lost on the way to your fan-club meeting," Allison snapped, not sure why she was so upset with him. Grabbing her bag she left the classroom and headed down the hallway, only to hear his footsteps following her. He followed her all the way to her next class and even through the door as she found herself another seat in yet another corner and was about to tell him not to follow her anymore until she realized it was his next class, too. And as he took a seat next to her, there wasn't a thing she could do about it.

--------------------

That brief moment back in English, that fleeting shared second of thinking, had indeed been the only occasion Brian and Adam Sherwin's trains of thoughts ever traveled the same track. For now, in seventh block P.E., as Adam sporadically and "accidentally" smacked Brian in the face with his King Kong size hands during jumping-jacks, Adam's thoughts were these.

"Heh." _Smack. Fun._

"Heh." _Smack. Fun._

"Heh." _Smack. Fun._

Brian's thoughts, surprisingly enough, were running in a completely opposite direction. And soon enough, after a particularly hearty "Heh." _Smack. Fun_. from Adam, Brian's nose began running along with his thoughts and the front of his P.E. uniform was spotted with blood.

"Johnson!" the gym teacher barked. "Bleachers! Now! Don't go bleeding all over the rest of us."

Trudging over to the side, Brian climbed a few stairs and stationed himself there, tipping his head back and holding his nose until a noise beneath the bleachers drew his attention. Peaking down between the seats, he could see rustling beneath. Leaning down closer, a hand reached up to flick him in the ear.

"Hey!" Brian cried.

"This ain't a peep show, geek," Bender grunted at him. "What're you doing up there anyway."

"Sensitive nostrils," Brian mumbled.

"Whatever, kid. Take this show on the road, will you?"

"Sure thing, Bender," Brian agreed, but not before trying to peak around to see just who it was Bender had under there.

"Hey," Bender snarled. "I meant it. Beat it, Bri." With that, Brian sauntered off, still holding his nose, to the far side of the bleachers.

"So what do you think?" Bender asked. "Am I still such a bad prince? Case in point: me, just fervently defending your honor from intruders?"

"No," Claire said pulling him to her,"Maybe you're not so bad after all."


	6. Chapter 6

Allison could not believe this was happening. From her back corner, she could see now how evenly, how precisely the class had managed to separate themselves into neat rows prior to her and Andy's entrance. The girls had flocked to the desks on the right, the boys lumbered at the desks on the left. She knew this formation. This was a panic formation, caused only by--

"Lights please," Mr. Svenson called. The tick, tick, tick of the projector started up from behind them, the gray countdown flashing on the front wall. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1... The movie title shot across the chalkboard:

"Your Body and You."

--

Across the schoolyard, another educational lesson on a similar subject matter was continuing between Bender and Claire beneath the bleachers, far out of focus of Brian's bad eyesight. Having been roughly shooed away by Bender, Brian now sat quietly at the opposite end of the grand stand, still trying to catch a glimpse. Never in his life had he ever hated being nearsighted as much as he did right then.

--

Andy coughed slightly into his sleeve, and immediately regretted it. At the sound, Allison had turned to look at him. And he couldn't take her looking at him. Not here. Not right now. Not when _that_ was flashing across the screen. No matter how desperately he wanted to see Allison's _"those_." Oh god, was this awkward. Mr. Svenson, making the rounds, compounded the awkwardness by dropping two worksheets on the desk.

"Please follow along, class," he announced. "This one's easy. Using the word bank on the right, please label the diagrams." _What kind of cruel joke was this? _Andy thought. The worksheet stared up at him, and he chanced a peak over at Allison's. In some misguided attempt by the public school system to create well-educated and well-rounded future leaders of America, they felt labeling the anatomical differences of the opposite gender should be mandatory curriculum: Andy's blank worksheet featured a female diagram, while Allison's featured a male. They looked at each other in total fear.

Their classmates, having wisely arrived in class with enough warning to seat themselves in preparation for this exercise, were giggling or teasing amongst themselves, collaborating on their work. Two girls were blushing over their diagrams, while two of Andy's fellow football players were adding _additional _detail to theirs. All Andy and Allison could do was look at each other, and then turn away quickly to _not _look at each other.

"Do you," Allison finally broke the deafening silence. "Want to switch?"

--

It took a moment for Bender to realize that Claire's squirming had become more persistent than usual, and that she was actually trying to push him off rather than wiggle her way closer. She broke away from his determined lips and took a deep breath.

"Never been kissed like that before, have you princess," he smirked, utterly satisfied with her flustered face.

"Stop calling me that," she snapped, a cold front taking over. She wiped at her mouth. "I'm late for class." He wondered briefly how he'd managed to piss her off in the .5 seconds that had passed since she'd been letting his tongue in her mouth, but found it futile. He wasn't going to push it. If she wanted to be in class rather than under the bleaches with him, well…wait, who would want to do that? But still, he wasn't going to push it.

"Well then, allow me to escort you," he held out his arm in mock formality, deciding to ignore whatever tone she was taking with him now. He figured, brushing back his unruly hair, that his charm would win her over in the end, anyway. Why fight it? She scoffed, but nonetheless, took his arm, brushing off the dust she'd collected in their exploits.

"I'm still mad at you," she spoke finally, as he held the door open for her. "I hope you know that."

"Oh I know it," Bender laughed, pulling her back as she reached for her locker, a prying arm around her waist, his mouth against her ear. "And I like it." With that, he let her go.

She stood, alone in the hallway, as he walked off, nearly strutting. Her waist suddenly felt very, very cold, and she held her books closer to her chest. I am mad at him, right? She had to remind herself. I was when I went outside, and then… She watched him turn on his heels, his sneakers squeaking on the freshly waxed floors ,and give her a mock salute before bowing down the opposite hallway. No, I'm right, I'm very, very mad at him, because he, well he..

Why was I mad at him again?

--

"Uh, sir, sir, I'm still--I'm still bleeding." Brian struggled to keep up with Mr. Vork, who was striding across the field with great speed. "Can I see someone about this? Please? Before I turn anemic?"

"Ane-what?" Mr. Vork turned on his heels, his eyes staring Brian down, as if trying to bore the definition of this new, strange word out of him with his eyes.

"Anemic, sir, not exactly the word I'm look for, it rather refers to a deficient supply of iron in the blood, but nonetheless can be related to severe blood loss, which, sir, in these circumstances, I fear I am in danger of…"

"You makin' this up, Johnson?"

"Making up 'anemic,' sir? Uh no, no. Some think it might have even killed Karen Carpenter."

"I thought she died 'cause she didn't eat."

"Oh well, sure sir, I'm not really up on popular culture, sir, but I am bleeding, still, quite profusely and…"

"You eat enough Johnson?" Mr. Vork did not seem to be concerned by the blood soaked front of Brian's PE jersey at all. "You're small."

"Uh, yes, sir, I eat, and yes, I am small, but sir, studies show that some hit puberty much later than others, at which time they can experience growth spurts and… Well, can I see the nurse now?"

"We don't have a nurse." Mr. Vork turned and continued his strides, Brian galloping awkwardly at his side to keep up. "Budget cuts. Nurses are for sissies." He turned on him again. "You a sissie, Johnson?"

"No sir, I'm just…I'm just bleeding."

"Alright. I don't want no anemic sissies on my watch. Try Mr. Svenson, he teaches the health class, probably has some band-aids." Not entirely sure how a band-aid was going to stop his bloody nose, Brian nonetheless gladly accepted the dismissal and hurried off toward the building, away from his P.E. purgatory.

--

Despite the fact that they had switched diagrams, Andy was still staring at his worksheet intently, unsure of himself. Well now this was even more embarrassing. Glancing at the word bank on the right, he didn't seem to be finding much familiar that he…recognized. Sure, there were an obvious few, but the diagram was pretty detailed with some stuff that…how was he supposed to know? He glanced over at Allison but what he saw didn't help much. She'd drawn clothes onto her diagram and was currently writing what appeared to be a protesting manifesto against the objectification of women in everyday culture in the upper left hand corner. Great, Andy thought, I'm supposed to turn that in?

Glancing up from the perplexing details of anatomy, Andy turned to see Brian burst in, bloody and still bleeding from the looks of it. Mr. Svenson leapt into action, with the skill of a health teacher saddled with nurse duties when he had no formal training in anything remotely related: he sat him in the back and handed him a paper towel. Brian and Andy exchanged nods of acknowledgement, but the "educational" movie on the screen had everyone in a dead silence. Allison waved and gave him a thumbs-up at the sight of blood. "You're a beast!" she whispered, a comment that had the surrounding rows of students in a fit, as it corresponded rather perfectly with the on-screen lecture. Andy just shook his head, and tried to get back to the task at hand: labeling…stuff.


End file.
